It was the day of the Finch Ball. Jason had been away on business, but was expected home in time for us to attend that evening.
I had graduated from Finch College two years earlier and was now married and expecting my second child. We lived in a one-bedroom garden apartment in Yonkers. It was a close community where everyone was young, friendly and just starting out. Each town house was made up of four apartments and every apartment had its own entrance. We were budding actors, interns, lawyers, business people and even entrepreneurs.
Tom Carvel’s executive assistant lived above us. On her wedding night, Tom and a group of rowdy friends nearly broke our door down yelling, “Chivaree!” (We sent them upstairs and went back to sleep.)
Anyway, on the night of the Finch Ball, I was wearing a magnificent crepe de chine maternity evening gown, my 3 carat diamond engagement ring, my mother-in-law’s gorgeous diamond necklace, and looked extremely out of place in that small living room filled with baby equipment, toys and a playpen. Jason, who had come home earlier, was clad in a very handsome tuxedo and also looked incongruous in that setting.
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